Zombie Flash Fiction Competition

“The time has come,” the Olive said, “For a zombie flash fiction competition!”

It might not have quite the ring of Lewis Carroll, but it’s bound to be just as fun. So step right up, flash fiction addicts and zombie fanatics alike.

The Rules:

1. Write a story in under 250 words. This is an absolute maximum, but there is no minimum. If you can write the perfect story in 50 words, do it. I’ll even accept a Haiku if it really rocks my socks off!

2. The story must contain zombies, or references to zombies.

3. (And this is the kicker) The story must be humorous. Whether it’s dry, dark, satirical, laugh out loud, hyperbolic, farcical, or screwball humour, I leave it up to you, but it must be, in your opinion and for whatever reason, funny.

4. You can enter your story in a few ways:

– Share your story in the comments section of this post,

– Share your story on your own blog and link here in the comments or by adding your details to the Linky tool at the end of this post,

You mean other than the admiration of all the Blogosphere, Twittersphere and Facebookosphere?

The winning story will be published on my blog and illustrated by your very own Olive! The winner will also receive an ebook copy of theIn Fabula-Divinoanthology which includes my short story “The Secret Life of a Zombie Fan” and is scheduled for release next week!

The competition opens NOW and closes on Monday (11th March) at midday just in time for the In Fabula-Divino launch.

Need Some Inspiration?

Nothing could be better than the “Plants vs Zombies” music video:

Heh. It leaves me grinning ear to ear every time.

Now, stop watching the video on repeat and go write me a story!

(And don’t forget to tell your friends!)

COMPETITION NOW CLOSED! (I will announce the winners shortly…)
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14 Comments

The doctor who saw the first zombie said she killed it almost as reflex, before it had a chance to lift more than an arm off the table. There were legal proceedings into whether the doctor could truly say the person on the autopsy table was dead enough to justify killing, whether it was really killing if she could prove that, and so on.
When I spoke to her, she told me that anybody still alive while their heart was being weighed probably didn’t want to be.

The second zombie also died quickly, crushed in its car by panicked thugs. There was a more heated debate after that incident, with questions like, “Why was he dead before he went in the car?” and “Why should I let you keep your fingers?”
Everything I learned there was second hand, nobody who was in the car yard that day was available for comment.

Soon after, the number of zombies exploded. Undead hands in morgues clutched at terrified medical staff, to be lopped off with surgical tools. Funeral homes ran cremation ovens of tightly bound economy coffins non-stop. It was almost a week before anyone came across the first zombie upright and mobile.

By the time someone realised that the zombies were not only sentient but afraid of us, the number of redead was in the tens of thousands. Many of the living are preparing for a bloody retaliation from the peers of their victims.

You are about to begin reading an entry in Stuffed Olive’s Flash Fiction competition. Relax. Concentrate. Let the world around you fade. Best to turn down the volume on the TV. New research suggests that multitasking leads only to doing multiple things poorly. You want to give your full attention. Ignore that text message. You have an alert from Facebook in the other tab, look, now you have two. Close window. That’s better.

The story starts slowly. Verbosely. The author is experimenting. Gradually it gets into the meat (you choose to ignore the obvious pun about brains) of the story. It’s an analogy. A clumsily drawn analogy, which disrupts your immersion in the narrative. You’re disappointed.

It paints a city of roundabouts and administrators. The protagonist slowly changed by bureaucracy and mindless drudgery. A citizenry slowly mutated by tampered air-conditioning dispensing chemicals intended to foster compliance and weed out autonomous thought. The story constructs a dystopian future where zombies collaborate to lure the best and brightest brains to their city in order to devour them. Preferably on sourdough for brunch.

Mmmmm. Brunch. Would you like a cup of tea? Sinking into words and worlds always goes better with a cup of tea. Go. Boil the kettle.

You pull up in shock. There’s a zombie in your kitchen. Your final thought as the zombie proceeds to munch its way up your arm and you surrender to your inevitable transition: you knew you shouldn’t have let Nanna keep brains in the freezer.

With thanks and acknowledgement to Italo Calvino – who’s far far better If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller I borrowed the opening from.

Hi! I stumbled upon your contest through my Twitter feed, and although this is the first time I had gone to your page, I wrote a story for the challenge. I hope that’s okay? The story can be found here: http://luckychan.dreamwidth.org/4119.html#cutid1

Anyway, I find your blog really interesting, so I probably would be dropping by more often! (The cartoons are hilarious, hee.)

Mrs. Johnson hurried her pace as she walked down the hall of Oak Grove Middle School. The usual high-spirited atmosphere felt different today.

The moaning had reached an almost deafening volume. Dead eyes peeking out around every corner. Rotting fingers hungrily reaching out for fresh flesh.

If she could just make it to her classroom, she would be safe. Her steps quickened to a dead run.

She reached her door. It was locked! Locked? How could it be locked? Mandatory security measures were now likely to be her end. “Where are my keys?” She screamed to no one.

Fumbling in her oversized bag, she pulled out piles of graded papers, finally finding her keys at the bottom. She opened the door and squeezed in just in time. Thumping fists of walking dead pounded on her door.

She sank down in her chair breathing a sigh of relief, just to realize the serenity of her sanctuary had been compromised. The moment she let her guard down, the movement began. Stepping away from their desks, using cumbersome jagged steps, they moved toward her.

All she had for protection was a red pen and a few office referrals. What good would THOSE do today? As they closed in on her, she began to realize her untimely demise was nearing. Then, just as if her pleas for a miracle had been answered, the bell rang.